


Candy Courtship

by GodlingCaptainChristina



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Les Mis Winter Hols Exchange, M/M, Mostly Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodlingCaptainChristina/pseuds/GodlingCaptainChristina
Summary: How was this his fucking life? There was no way that this was actually happening to him right now. What had he done to deserve this kind of punishment? No, he might not be a saint, but he couldn’t have done something to warrant this, at least not in this life. This being Apollo himself holding out a cherry Ring Pop and talking marriage. As if that was the only logical thing to do with a Ring Pop.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lapoesieestdanslarue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapoesieestdanslarue/gifts).



> I have no idea how this ended up at 4200 words. As soon as I signed up, I was hit by the most massive writer's block, and this still managed to be well longer than the minimum word count. I guess that they had more to say than my fingers knew. I don't know what to say about that, but I do think that that may say some things about me. Happy Holidays.

Grantaire would like to formally, officially, entirely, completely blow the fuck up. 

How was this his fucking life? There was no way that this was actually _happening_ to him right now. What had he done to deserve this kind of punishment? No, he might not be a saint, but he couldn’t have done something to warrant this, at least not in this life. 

_This_ being Apollo himself holding out a cherry Ring Pop and talking _marriage_. As if that was the only logical thing to do with a Ring Pop. 

_This_ being the fact that Grantaire had never even _seen_ this man before in his entire life. Grantaire would _remember_ meeting someone who shone as brightly as this man did. 

_This_ being the fact that Combeferre, Grantaire’s traitor twin, was behind the golden god and _laughing_ at Grantaire’s pain. 

“Honestly, my guy, I'm not sure what the fuck you're talking about?” Grantaire finally said, in the vain hope that this would stop this whole conversation in its tracks. 

Of course, because Grantaire has the worst luck in the history of ever, short of Bossuet, the angel did not take that as his cue to _leave_. Instead, because the world hates him, the angel frowns and digs his heels in. Literally, he clenched his teeth and tucked his chin against his collar bones and pressed his feet firmer into the ground. 

In the privacy of his mind, even Grantaire had to admit that that was really freaking cute. 

“That was almost unbearably cute,” Grantaire said. Out loud because he has absolutely zero filter between his brain and his mouth. That's why Combeferre is the favorite twin. People skills. And self-preservation. That tends to be something that people value in their friends. 

_**Shit.**_

“So, you're willing to talk about how cute I am, but not the fact that you drunkenly proposed to me?” The angel’s jaw twitched in a way that wasn't incredibly hot at all. Nope. Not hot. 

Grantaire paused for a moment, pretending to think this moment over. 

“Yup.” He turned around and started to leave. In the background, he could hear Combeferre cackling like Aunt Emilie was visiting with bad presents and another girlfriend in tow. 

“Just wait a minute, would you?” he shouted. “We’re not done talking about this!” There was some sort of frantic shuffling that Grantaire tried to ignore in favor of walking as quickly as humanly possible without looking like he wanted to run away. It didn't do much good, obviously because Tall, Blond, and Angelic was by his side in short order. 

Unfortunately for him, Grantaire was going to major in Avoidance, with a minor in Extravagant Bullshittery whenever he grew up. 

“That's great, really, but I've got a thing that I have to get to. So I should really just leave now before I'm late.” 

“For something that doesn't exist?” 

“Now you're catching on.” Grantaire smiled at him one final time before booking it the hell out of there. 

 

 

Three hours later finds Grantaire screaming into a pillow. Since his interaction with the living god Apollo, it hadn’t really hit him that he'd, in essence, turned down the hottest man alive out of hand until he'd gotten home and Combeferre was there to scowl at him. 

“It's probably not as bad as you're thinking it is,” Combeferre said, rubbing his back soothingly. 

Grantaire scowled at him. This was _so_ as bad as he thought it was. There weren't many ways that this could get much worse. 

Being stuffed in a locker didn’t compared to the utter _mortification_ he felt now. Forgetting to grab his normal shoes from his dance locker and having to wear his pointe shoes for _three hours_ was _nothing_ anymore. Every horrifying moment of high school was fading into a grey buzz of embarrassment now that he’d apparently proposed to a golden god and run off like a less attractive Cinderella. 

_God_ , he fucking hated Cinderella stories. 

“Just tell me I didn’t run out like I needed to catch a pumpkin carriage, Ferre,” Grantaire begged. Any and all consequences that come his way he could live with as long as he didn’t leave behind his metaphorical glass slippers. 

Combeferre made a face and Grantaire fucking _knew._

“ _Fuck._ ” 

 

 

He was mistaken. Things can always get worse. Things can get much worse. 

“I really don't know what to say, R,” Combeferre whispered. “I really didn't think that you could make this any worse.”

Yet here they stood, Enjolras red in the face, and not from Ring Pop related embarrassment either. This red was dedicated entirely to his ire. 

“I’m not entirely sure how I did it,” Grantaire responded. He would have tried to keep his voice down as well, but he was pretty sure that with how much blood was rushing past ~~Apollo’s~~ _Enjolras’_ ears he wouldn’t hear a damn thing. “I seem to have some sort of super power.” 

“As your older brother, I feel like I should be the one with powers.” 

Grantaire scoffed and turned to him, affronted. “Two minutes, Ferre. _Two minutes_.” These two minutes had been held in contention for seventeen of their eighteen years. The one year that wasn't affected was their first year and shouldn't have been counted because neither of them could properly talk yet. 

Enjolras opened his mouth before screaming wordlessly. He turned around and left. Before he got to the door, he swung back around. “You're wrong,” he said, scowling fiercely. “You're going to get an email later explaining just how wrong you are, but I'm so _mad at you-_ ” He sucked in a hard breath. 

Grantaire couldn't be sure, but he _thought_ he saw Enjolras’ eye twitching when he walked away. 

“Do you think that this counts as ‘self-sabotaging behavior’?” Grantaire asked, because focusing on his therapy was somehow preferable to focusing on him driving away the single most interesting person he's ever met. 

“Yeah,” Combeferre sighed. “I think this counts.” 

 

 

In retrospect, going to the same college as his high school crush _may_ have been a bad idea. 

Okay, it wasn't on purpose. Grantaire had applied to dozens of colleges, but this one, ~~besides being one of only a handful to actually accept him~~ , had the best art program. He hadn't even known which schools Enjolras was going to apply to! He'd honestly wanted to use college as a way to escape his ever growing feelings for Enjolras. 

Being drunk around him was perhaps a bad idea for that. 

But bad ideas were Grantaire specialty after all. He made a point of coming up with the worst ideas he possibly could while sober, then completing them while drop dead drunk. It made Combeferre worried sometimes, but Bahorel thought it was hilarious. 

Being drunk with Enjolras around was probably still Grantaire’s worst idea to date. Worse than the psychic and the goat. Worse than the surprise trip to America. 

“You're being dramatic,” Courfeyrac said. “I don't think that there's much that’s worse than going to America.” 

Grantaire snorted, head pillowed on his arms. Enjolras, also quite drunk, was draped across his back and sucking on his Grantaire-provided Ring Pop.  
Because Grantaire proposed again. 

With a fucking _Ring Pop._

~~He isn't sure yet how he feels about this, because he’s stupid and drunk and he proposed, but Enjolras is smart and drunk and _accepted._ He’ll probably regret this more when Enjolras isn't pressed flush against him. ~~

“I feel like this is going to make the cutest story for your kids.” Of course Courfeyrac would say that. He was dating Jehan, that would give anyone rose tinted glasses. 

“We’d have the cutest kids, R,” Enjolras sighed. And really, that should have been illegal for how adorable that was when that was never actually going to happen. 

“You're so cute when you're delusional.” Grantaire wasn't sure who he was directing that to. 

“‘S not delusional,” Enjolras argued blearily, apparently decided that Grantaire was talking to him. “‘S magical.” His lips were pressed firm, against Grantaire’s back and that was truly un-fucking-fair. What had he ever done to deserve this kind of torture? 

“Magic isn't real, Enjolras,” Grantaire said. “Otherwise, we’d have fair elections.” Enjolras snorted at that and Grantaire almost died because that wasn't sexy. That wasn't attractive in anyway, but he was so fucking gone on Enjolras that having him snort of his back and just trail off into hiccupping giggles was the best part of the fucking night. And he'd done body shots off of _Jehan,_ for Christ’s sake. Body shots off of Jehan were a fucking _gift._

“That's not fair,” Enjolras whined. “You argue with me drunk all the time. I haven't been actually properly drunk in weeks.” 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. _Properly drunk?_ Was there a way to get drunk that _anybody_ considered proper? That didn't seem like something that happened in real life. Maybe people condoned Enjolras’ drinking to a higher level because of how pretty he was? _He_ certainly would, at the very least. 

“Are you wearing a Ring Pop?” a new voice asked. When Grantaire looked up, Éponine was staring down at them with a sort of bewildered fascination. Then again, she seemed to look at Grantaire like that a lot. Almost like he was a particularly amusing cat, or maybe a monkey. 

“Grantaire proposed,” Enjolras slurred against his back. Maybe he should start a petition on that because there was no way that that was legal or fair in any way. 

“Again?” Éponine asked with nary a raised brow. “How many times is that now? Six? Seven?” As if she didn't already know that every single time that Grantaire got drunk he magically procured a Ring Pop for Enjolras. 

“Nine,” Enjolras corrected. He wiggled against Grantaire’s back for a couple seconds, somehow pressing himself more fully against him. Which, again, _not fair._

“And you’ve said yes to all of them?” she asked. 

Enjolras nodded sleepily. 

“Why?” 

Honestly, that had Grantaire baffled too. It was probably just so he'd quit talking. Enjolras would go to great lengths to make him shut up; placating him over pretend proposals wasn’t such a stretch. 

“Because it's Grantaire,” Enjolras said. Which explained exactly nothing. In what universe did that make sense? 

Enjolras didn’t even _like_ him. He tolerated him for the sake of Combeferre, but he’d be much better off if Grantaire would just fuck off. He’d be happier and less stressed and he wouldn’t have to worry about some drunk harassing him with a _fucking_ Ring Pop. He’d get more work done and spend more time with his friends and figure out how to end all oppression and still have time for afternoon tea if Grantaire would just leave him the hell alone. 

“Shush,” Enjolras whispered. “I can hear you thinking.” 

 

 

Grantaire had stopped buying Ring Pops. 

Some people might say that that isn't _that_ big a deal, but considering this had been his favorite candy since he was _three,_ that gave it a little more weight. At least, it did to him. 

Combeferre hasn't noticed yet and there was bound to be hell whenever he did. But as of yet, Combeferre hadn't noticed and that's what mattered. 

Éponine, though, Éponine had noticed. Noticed and gave him Hell for it. Every Single Day. 

He couldn't really be too upset about it because Enjolras _brought him Ring Pops._ Apparently, he saw that Grantaire wasn’t carrying them around as often and decided to supplement his candy hoard. ~~The hoard didn’t need any adding to, as Grantaire had been building his pile for the past decade. Any addition or subtraction at this point was null from just how massive it had become.~~

Every time that Enjolras handed him a bag of Ring Pops, though, there was something almost _hopeful_ in his eyes. Like Grantaire was holding his every dream in his hands and was leaning more towards crushing it instead of protecting it. 

It was entirely too much trust put in him. 

 

 

Nothing in Grantaire's life made any fucking sense any more. It had sort of stopped making sense when Enjolras accepted his first Ring Pop Proposal, but that could have been excused. Every single accepted proposal after that could be brushed off as placating a drunkard. 

This did not, in any way, shape, or form, count as _placation._

If Grantaire didn't know better, he'd think that this counted as a _date._

But that was insane. Even Combeferre agreed that their . . . situation was probably the weirdest thing that'd happened to him in a long while. And that was including the ducklings. 

There was no reason for this to be happening. Grantaire certainly hadn't thought Enjolras capable of more than grudging acceptance of him, but only as his best friend’s weirdo twin. That's all Grantaire _ever_ was. 

Yet here they sat, Enjolras flushed red from his ears to places Grantaire couldn't see and didn't dare imagine, with a cherry Ring Pop wobbling on the table between them. 

In this moment, Grantaire felt a keen urge to apologize. He'd mostly learned to ignore these unfounded compulsions. Somehow, though, Enjolras made his tongue scrape around inside of his mouth, searching in vain for words to apologize with. 

“Will you please say something?” Enjolras finally snapped. It probably didn't truly count as a ‘snap’, it was much too desperate for that, but that was what Grantaire could handle right now. 

“What am I supposed to say, Enjolras?” Grantaire sighed. “That I believe you? That I think that… _whatever_ you're proposing is a good idea? I don't know what you want from me.” 

“I want to know what the hell you're thinking!” he yelled. Immediately, he slapped his hands over his mouth. “Shit, I'm sorry,” he said through his hands. Grantaire could almost see his lower lip wobbling dangerously, what with how he looked right then. 

“Why?” Grantaire asked. 

“I shouldn't have shouted,” Enjolras said to the floor. “It doesn't matter how much I care about you, about this; I shouldn't have shouted.” 

“No,” Grantaire said and Enjolras’ head snapped up. “Why do you want to know what I'm thinking?” It isn't a question, not really, though it's phrased like one and spoken like one. Grantaire can’t handle questions right now. He needs to know this. He _needs_ to know what the hell is going on with Enjolras lately. 

Because there’s no reason for Enjolras to show him any special attention, but they’d had lunch together three times that week. _Three!_ And somehow that was cause for Grantaire to worry now because they had lunch together most days. Things like that didn’t happen to him. Things like Enjolras actually _liking him?_ That didn’t happen. 

“I always want to know what you’re thinking,” Enjolras admits and Grantaire isn’t prepared for the vicious blush that follows his words. If he’d ever seen Enjolras this red before, he didn’t remember. “It matters.” 

Grantaire frowned. What the hell was Enjolras talking about? It _matters?_

Enjolras stood up, snatching the Ring Pop from the table. “Look, I get it, okay? You’re not interested. I’ll back off.” 

Before Grantaire could even gather his thoughts enough to go after him, Enjolras had marched away. 

 

 

“I just really don’t understand, Combeferre,” Grantaire whined. “He’ll ‘back off’? What does that even mean?”

Combeferre sighed softly. “Maybe he thinks that you don’t want him around?” 

“Having him around is the literal opposite of a problem,” Grantaire argued. “Unless my massive crush is a problem.” Which it sort-of was, but only for him. It wasn’t supposed to bother anybody else. The point of keeping his stupid, useless, unrequited crush to himself was so that it wouldn’t bother Enjolras. He sighed, digging his hands into his hair. 

Either Enjolras knew about his crush and was bothered by it, or he didn’t know and something else was bugging him. 

 

 

Avoidance, Grantaire found, was exceptionally difficult when one shares literally all the same friends as the person they are trying to avoid. They go to the same school, they go to the same coffee shops, _hell,_ they rode the same trains back home because _somehow_ they moved into the same apartment building after they got kicked out of the dorms. There was literally no way that Grantaire could have avoided Enjolras. 

Somehow, he was still surprised when they both ended up in Courfeyrac’s flat after finals week ended. 

Logically, it didn’t make sense that they wouldn’t at least briefly encounter each other through their friends, but he hadn’t really taken into account how much time they spent together with their friends. 

Hell, half the time, Enjolras and Combeferre hanging out meant that Grantaire was there too simply because he had the worst fucking brother in history. Abel may have been viciously murdered by his brother out of jealously, but at least he didn't have to put up with a meddling twin. 

The other half of the time, when he and Enjolras magically ended up together, they were _somehow_ left alone with each other within twenty minutes. Grantaire had _ideas_ about how this was happening, but kindly kept them to himself because most of them were rather unkind to his traitor friends. 

Enjolras, for his part, staunchly ignored Grantaire while they were stuck together. Which would be just fine if Grantaire didn't want to talk to him sort …whatever was going on between them out. 

 

 

“We need to talk,” Enjolras said. He shifted uncomfortably under Grantaire’s gaze, but didn't move to back away. 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Really now?” He asked that more to be an ass than anything else, but Enjolras had been ignoring his attempts to talk for weeks. “We need to _talk?_ I thought that whatever was happening between us was ‘stupid and childish and didn't matter,’” he spat. And, oh wow, it should not have felt so good to be so vindictive. 

Enjolras winced. “I'm sorry, Grantaire.” He stepped forward hesitantly, hand raised as if he were going to try _comforting_ him.

“You’re sorry,” Grantaire scoffed. “You’re _sorry._ ” God, Grantaire wanted to strangle him. “You’re sorry, so that just makes everything better? That apology magically vanishes the past few weeks of you avoiding me?” He stood up as calmly as he could manage. 

“Are you leaving?” Enjolras asked, already standing again to… to what? To follow? To block him leaving? 

Grantaire scowled at him. “Come on.” He nodded to the door. If he was going to have this conversation, he’d need as much coffee as Éponine would bless him with. 

Enjolras followed two tentative steps behind him the whole way to the Musain. He didn’t try talking, didn’t try to stop and stare at the streets around them, didn’t try _anything._ Grantaire wasn’t sure what was weirder: Enjolras not appreciating Paris around them, or Enjolras not attempting to start this conversation before they’d sat down somewhere. 

Whenever they arrived, Enjolras moved for the door before Grantaire could even think about opening it himself. Éponine raised her eyebrows at them, but didn’t comment. 

“What’re you having?” she asked instead because she was an angel. A problem-avoiding angel. 

“I need the most caffeinated drink that you’ll give me,” Grantaire said. Yes, he did just _say_ it; he refused to beg for coffee. He glanced at Enjolras quickly before nodding him forward. 

“Oh! Um, hot chocolate, please.” He flushed red and ducked his head slightly. 

How had Grantaire gone and fallen in love with someone so fucking cute? This man was going to _kill_ him. Enjolras was going to do something unbearably cute and Grantaire would just fall over dead from how fucking adorable he was. 

Éponine’s raised eyebrows didn’t deter Grantaire from the pleading/dying look he gave her. He’d lost all sympathy from her when he’d broken into her apartment while dead drunk and ranted about how much he loved Enjolras. Gavroche had _never_ had any sympathy for him about Enjolras, but he _was_ very amused every time that Grantaire said ‘gold’ in relation to his hair. Azelma resolutely ignored all of his lovelorn antics. 

“Okay then, one hot chocolate and one unholy monster formed from caffeine and the stolen dreams of children. That’ll be 5,40 €.” 

While Enjolras goes to find a table, Grantaire stands back for a moment. Finally he turns back to Éponine. “If I show up at your house drunk later, this,” Grantaire took a sharp breathe, “ _this_ is why.” 

She smiled at him and waved him off. “Go on. I'll bring you’re drink to you when it's ready.” 

Grantaire sighed melodramatically, or at least as melodramatically as Éponine was likely to tolerate at work, before heading towards Enjolras. 

“I'm sorry,” Enjolras said as soon as Grantaire sat down. 

“What about?” Grantaire asked. He moved to get more comfortable because apparently Enjolras couldn’t wait ten seconds before unloading. 

“For being an ass,” he replied, as if that was a complete answer right there. “For putting my feelings first and completely ignoring that you don’t want what I want,” he continued. 

“What?” Grantaire was so fucking lost. 

Enjolras rushed to explain, a panicked gleam in his eye, as if Grantaire would leave if he didn’t talk quick enough. “I thought that the Ring Pops meant you were interested and I took it out on you instead of dealing with it like a rational adult. I’m so sorry.” 

“You- what?” That made no sense. If Enjolras was upset about Grantaire not having feelings, and Grantaire was upset about Enjolras not having feelings, what the fuck were they _doing?_ “Your feelings?”

“Yes, my feelings. Those things that made you uncomfortable and ran you off from being around me?” Enjolras squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. 

Éponine, bless her ill-timed heart, chose that moment to set their drinks down in front of them. 

“Everything alright around here?” she asked, completely oblivious to their pain. 

“Fine, but I think we need a mediator,” Grantaire admitted. Enjolras blanched. “I think that there’s been some serious miscommunication here.” 

Éponine squinted at them for a moment before speaking, “Give me two minutes,” and walking away. 

“Miscommunication?” Enjolras questioned. “I don’t understand.” 

“I think that we haven’t actually talked about what’s bothering us, and that now both of us are hurting,” Grantaire explained. “And I don’t think that either of us is exactly clearheaded right now. Éponine’s probably the most clearheaded person I know. 

Enjolras nodded, looking down at his hot chocolate quietly. 

“Okay,” Éponine started. She pulled a chair from another table and sat. “One at a time, tell me your side.” 

Grantaire waved for Enjolras to start. 

“Okay, I’m upset because Grantaire doesn’t love me back and I’m feeling guilty because he doesn’t have to, but I really, really want him to.” 

“Fuck.”

“ _Éponine! _” Grantaire hissed.__

__“ _What? _” she growled. She turned on Enjolras with fiery eyes. “You mean to tell me that Grantaire has been pining for _months_ for nothing?” ___ _

____“What happened to being the level headed mediator?” Grantaire groaned._ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry, really, but you’ve been coming to my apartment for _months_ to wax fucking rhapsodical over _him._ ” She laid her head down on the table. “Hearing that all of that could have been avoided? Think of how much _sleep_ I could have gotten?” _ _ _ _

____“I don’t understand,” Enjolras said._ _ _ _

____“No, that’s because you two are the most oblivious fucks in the whole universe.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m sure somewhere there’s an alien more oblivious than me,” Grantaire argued. Honestly, he couldn’t have been _the_ most oblivious creature in existence. Enjolras existed too, so he should obviously have been the winner of that particular contest. _ _ _ _

____“And I pity their friends,” she sniped._ _ _ _

____“Can one of you _please_ explain?” Enjolras yelled. He looked almost ready to stand up and leave them. _ _ _ _

____Éponine straightened up. “You’re in love with Grantaire and Grantaire's in love with you. Simple enough?” She smiled sharply._ _ _ _

____Enjolras’ eyes widened almost comically large. “You’re in love with me?”_ _ _ _

____Grantaire nodded, a blush chasing its way up his neck. He probably looked like a fucking thermometer._ _ _ _

____“Tada,” Éponine said with the flattest voice she could muster. “I’ll leave you to your blushing.” When she stood up, Grantaire could have sworn that he saw her smiling at them._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

____“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Enjolras said._ _ _ _

____“I'm fucking ridiculous?” Grantaire asked. “Well, if by that, you mean that I’m partaking in vigorous, _incredibly_ satisfying sex with my boyfriend, then, _yes_ , I am fucking ridiculous.” Grantaire smiled. They’d been bickering over the show and that probably wasn’t the most romantic situation in the world, but Grantaire loved this. Loved Enjolras so damn much that he felt like he was going to burst from holding it. _ _ _ _

____“No,” Enjolras laughed. “That isn’t what I meant. I meant that you’ve watched three hours of _Say Yes To The Dress_ already and that it’s my turn.” _ _ _ _

____He pressed the hand not holding Enjolras’ over his heart. “I'm hurt, honey, I really am.” He turned the largest puppy eyes he could physically manage onto his boyfriend, lips already dropping into pout._ _ _ _

____Enjolras smiled at him._ _ _ _

____Grantaire's heart squeezed hard under his sternum. God, how was this his life? He was so in love right now, and had been for 7 years. He must have been a saint in another life to have deserved this much happiness. Enjolras chose that moment to press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead._ _ _ _

____There was really only one thing to do about this._ _ _ _

____On the coffee table was a Ring Pop. Or, it wasn’t a Ring Pop _anymore_. It was once, but Grantaire had commandeered the wrapper for something very special. As an added bonus, Enjolras wouldn’t be suspicious of any sort of candy, especially Ring Pops, anywhere in the house. _ _ _ _

____He reached out for the engagement ring, hidden in a Ring Pop wrapper, and he smiled._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> The 'Teen and Up' rating is mostly for profanity. I find myself completely incapable of writing Grantaire without him saying 'Fuck' at least a few times. If I can't read it to a small child without worrying that their parents will scream at me, I rate up.  
> Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukah. (I'm sorry that I don't know any other December holidays, but I hope that you have nice holidays).


End file.
